A Second Son
by OUATLovr
Summary: 1998 movie-verse. D'Artagnan's thoughts when he realizes for the first time that Philippe is his son.


Man in the Iron Mask Movie-verse.

One-Shot: D'Artagnan's thoughts upon realizing who Philippe really is.

The boy, the usurper who had nearly gotten away with it, and would have had he not, to D'Artagnan's shame, shown compassion where Louis would not, stood in the middle of Louis' bedchambers, silent as Louis evaluated him.

D'Artagnan stood off to the side, unsure of what to say. He wished to apologize to the young king, his son in reality, that he had nearly allowed his former friends to drag the boy away and replace him. But he knew that Louis was not in the mood for such an admittance of failure.

Louis circled around the imposter like a vulture having smelt blood and going in for the kill, eyes hard and unforgiving, and D'Artagnan did not doubt what the young man's fate would be, once he had answered Louis' questions.

"I was told this imposter was dead," Louis said finally, shocking his Musketeer Captain.

D'Artagnan took an involuntary step forward, glancing from the imposter to his king, his son. Why would Louis hide such a thing from him, if he knew about it?

"You knew? You knew there was a man of such resemblance?" he asked, slightly breathless. How could Louis no of such a plot and his own Captain not have the slightest clue, if not for Aramis' earlier misjudgment in telling him?

"He is my brother," Louis said, as if it were obvious, and D'Artagnan's world ended with those words.

"Brother?" he repeated, unbelieving, eyes turning back to this boy, Louis' brother, _his son._ A brother? But how-? It all made sense now, Aramis' plot to exchange the king. Aramis had promised no open war in the streets, because the people would surely accept one who, arguably, should have been king in the first place. As a twin, his claim to the throne was just as strong as Louis'. If only they knew that neither was even a son of the king.

And he realized that he had failed far worse than a near-kidnapping here.

And now that he knew, he couldn't believe he hadn't put it together earlier. Of course they were brothers; twins. No man could look that much like another without being so, and the boy certainly resembled Louis. But there was a certain innocence about him, a compassion in his eyes that D'Artagnan had noticed during the ball. Both of which Louis did not have.

"My twin, my blood. A fact that has kept him alive until now." Louis continued, pretending not to notice D'Artagnan's sudden distress.

D'Artagnan could not take his eyes off this second son. He couldn't help wondering where the boy had been hiding. Then he berated himself for the thought. Of course the boy hadn't been in hiding if Louis knew about him, and thought him dead. Louis had been keeping him prisoner.

Where were you, that you managed to keep your innocence so intact all these years?

His son.

The reality of what he had just done hit him. He had handed his son over to Louis, and he knew the king, whether he wished to believe it before or not. The boy would not survive Louis' rage, brother or not.

He had been such a fool!

The door suddenly burst open then, and Anne was there, gazing with wide, fearful eyes into the room, as if she thought her son would already be dead. Her distressed state earlier made sense now. She had known, had known about their other child all along and never told him. Even Louis had known, but D'Artagnan? He was just finding out now, of course. If Aramis had just told him, if Anne had told him...

She didn't grace Louis or D'Artagnan a second glance though, rushing forward and throwing herself into the boy's arms and whispering, "Philippe," with all the tenderness of a new mother to a babe.

Philippe. So that was his second child's name.

The boy leaned forward, nuzzling her nose, and she offered him a reassuring smile before spinning to Louis, who looked shocked. But of course. In his mind, his mother had betrayed him, for she must have known what was going on to come looking for Philippe here.

D'Artagnan was still in shock over the realization that he had another son.

"Louis, please," Anne was begging now, struggling to stay strong before both her sons. She would have begged Louis for Philippe's life then, and D'Artagnan would have been unable to bear that, unable to see her in such pain over the boy, but Louis interrupted her.

"You were a part of this too, mother?" he shouted, furious, shoving her backward into D'Artagnan's arms.

Anne's eyes widened, and she pulled away. "He is your brother!" she attempted to reason with her eldest son. "I love you both!" Her accent slipped into her voice then, betraying her emotions.

Louis' jaw slackened, and he glowered at her. Desperate to hurt her as much as her turning on him with his brother had hurt him, he snapped, "And your love has meant nothing to either of us!"

D'Artagnan flinched at that. He had thought he could raise Louis better than this. He had failed the king, and the son he had never known he had. He had failed them both as a father, and he knew there was only one person he could still try to make it up to now.

Before Anne could break down on those words, the boy, Philippe, whispered, just loud enough to be heard, "It has meant something to me."

The words tore at D'Artagnan's heart.

Louis spun, so quickly that D'Artagnan, even after all his years as a Musketeer, was not ready for him, and punched Philippe squarely in the jaw. The boy flew backward, landing hard on his knees. Louis stood over him, panting his superiority.

D'Artagnan had raised a monster, at the expense of his other child.

Seeing that Louis would hit the boy again, D'Artagnan rushed forward and threw himself in front of the young king, holding him back. This was splitting apart the Musketeer Captain, but he knew what he must do.

Philippe was an innocent, a victim. His son. He did not know what hell the boy had been through at the order of his brother, who should have loved him, but he could put a stop to Louis' rage now.

"Your Majesty, listen to me," D'Artagnan whispered, placing his hands on Louis' shoulders, and he hated that even now he must address his own son like this, "Never once have I ever asked anything for myself. I ask you now: spare the life of this man, this prisoner, your brother." _My son._

He glanced back at the boy, still sitting on the ground, panting. There was a fierce resemblance between the two, but right now, D'Artagnan could not see it. He could only see the innocent, childish face of Philippe and compare it to the cruel face of the boy king before him, the king who was capable of having his own brother murdered, of putting another man's son on the front lines to steal his lover.

The boy he had only begun to hope vainly, during the ball, was finally becoming a man, only to find out that it was his brother, Philippe.

He waited, breathless, for Louis' response. Surely the boy would grant him this. It was his own brother, for God's sake!

Louis' answer saddened him, much as his taking Raoul's fiancee for a lover and sending Raoul to his death had saddened him, for it only meant that D'Artagnan had failed him completely. "You have no right to ask me this!" the spoiled young king shouted, throwing D'Artagnan off him.

"On the contrary, I have the only right!" he wanted to shout back at the boy, but didn't dare, not even now.

D'Artagnan eyed his son, shocked but hiding it well. Very well. If he could not appeal to his son through a favor, he was not averse to begging for his other son's life, if that was the only thing that would get through to Louis. D'Artagnan, Captain of the Musketeers, went down on his knees before his king.

_His son._

"Your Majesty," he drew out a shaky breath, "Every day of your life, I have watched over you," D'Artagnan began softly. "I have bled for you. I have prayed every day to see you become greater than your office, better than the law. Please show me what my faith and my blood have purchased. Show mercy." Please, my son. Be the man I always hoped you would become.

For a moment, he thought Louis was listening to him, but then the boy spoke, and his faith in the son he had helped raise was gone.

"And you take the side of traitors?" Louis demanded, his voice even and calm, but furious, and as he grew more so, his voice rose. "Of this one, worst of all, my own brother, who's tried to do this to me!"

D'Artagnan couldn't believe his ears. He glanced from Philippe to Louis and then demanded, "And what have you done to him?"

Louis did not answer, looking down at Philippe with hard, pitiless eyes.

"For one moment," D'Artagnan said, standing slowly, praying that he could get through to Louis, "I thought you had become the king I always hoped you'd be." And then I realized that it wasn't even you, he didn't say.

Louis stared back at him, his expression crumbling for a single moment as he understood what D'Artagnan meant. But before he could speak, the boy, Philippe, interrupted him.

"Please...My lord, may I speak?"

Louis was silent, and the boy took that as permission to continue.

"I beg that you kill me." D'Artagnan was shocked into silence. No, this wasn't helping; didn't the boy see that Louis was perfectly willing to kill him already? Behind him, D'Artagnan could hear Anne's sniffing turn into a horrified gasp.

"I release you from any sin in taking my life. In fact, I pray that God reward you for your mercy to do it." Silence, boy! "But, please...do not, I beg you, return me to the prison where I have lived for so long."

And D'Artagnan realized for the first time how much his youngest son had suffered at the hands of Louis. Suffering so bad that he would rather die than return to it. D'Artagnan had indeed failed this boy. He let out a long suffering sigh.

It didn't matter the circumstances, but D'Artagnan had heard the rumors. Rumors of a prisoner, locked away in the Bastille for years, an iron mask hiding his face from the world...

He glanced at Philippe. Who else's face would Louis wish to hide?

The horror of the moment made him speechless.

D'Artagnan turned to Louis, hoping that his earlier words had sunk in now, hoping that he would show mercy. Louis seemed to be contemplating the request. He wasn't sure if he agreed with the boy's version of mercy, but surely Louis would...

Louis nodded once, as if acquiescing. "D'Artagnan," he spoke softly, and D'Artagnan dared to hope before he heard the words, "You will hunt down Porthos, Athos and Aramis, and bring me their heads, or I will have yours!"

D'Artagnan sighed. For the second time that night, he had thought Louis had become his king, only to be disappointed. He turned his face away in shame at how badly he had failed his sons.

Louis turned to Philippe now, pointing a finger at him, "And as for you, my brother, back to the prison you shall go, and into the mask you hate."

Anne tried to intervene then, but D'Artagnan already knew it was useless. "Louis, don't!"

"Wear it until you love it!" Louis screamed at his brother. "And die in it."

It took all of D'Artagnan's self control to stand there and do nothing while the guards were called to drag his son away. And he could feel Anne's eyes on him, before she lifted her head and stalked from the room.

Louis just stood there, like a rag doll, unable to move. Did he even realize the cruelty he performed? Or had D'Artagnan failed to show him right from wrong, as well?

ǁ

"Anne," D'Artagnan called out to her, and she turned to face him, her face streaked with worried tears as she paced back and forth outside Louis' rooms, unable to go farther, hoping to petition her son for Philippe's sake.

"There were two? Not one, but two?" He couldn't believe she had kept that from him. She had been a strong woman to have to bear the secret all these years. Had she known all along, or only found out recently? He wondered.

"I couldn't tell you," Anne whispered hoarsely, "You had enough to bear." Her hand on his arm felt soothing, but he should have been soothing her.

D'Artagnan shook his head, marveling at the strength of this woman, even now. Still, he would have liked to know, even if she had wished to spare him pain. It would have changed many events that happened recently if he had only known the truth. The truth that he had another son, another contender to the throne of France.

But there was no use wishing the past could change. He might yet still have a chance to save Philippe now.

"Anne, I have loved you always. None but you. No matter what happens, I pray you remember that," D'Artagnan told her, his voice just above a whisper.

Anne stared up into his eyes, and nodded almost imperceptibly. She leaned forward to kiss him, reminding him of why he loved her so, but they were interrupted by a woman's scream. Sending her an apologetic glance, D'Artagnan turned away.

And wondered if he would not fail Anne as well. He had seen the hope in her eyes at his words. And the only thing his conscience would allow him to do was protect Philippe, to try not to fail him as well , no matter the cost to himself. But a terrified part of him was asking what he would do if the cost was Louis, the son he had failed.

Fin.


End file.
